


On The Rocks

by BlossomTime



Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Verbal Humiliation, these two have problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomTime/pseuds/BlossomTime
Summary: Floyd has a problem with drinking. Earl has a problem with humiliation. They aren't helping each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Miso for making me write shitship porn and providing the soundtrack! We both intend to get Floyd into therapy and AA, really, any day now. Honest.

It was easier when Floyd drank until he was miserable. 

When he drank straight from the bottle, it was like he was working his way down a checklist: hating himself for not being more successful, hating himself for every mistake he thought he'd made, hating himself because his father hated him, hating himself for everything he saw in Vietnam. Never mind that none of it was really his fault. It never changed, no matter how many times Earl told him that he was a respected newsman, his father was an asshole, and the worst of what he saw in the war was done by other people. Jesus, the stories he told felt like ice down Earl's spine.

At least then Earl could hold him, wipe away the tears he cried silently, make sure he puked up the worst of it, and put him to bed. He knew it was probably some kind of enabling, but it was the only time he felt needed. 

Tonight was not that kind of night. When Earl came home, Floyd was in his armchair, still in his suit, tie barely pulled loose, a tumbler in his hand that sweated from ice and an inch of liquor. Earl felt his chest tighten. 

When he bothered to put the Jack in a glass, when he sat and _sipped_ , Floyd was cold. Mean. He watched Earl with sharp glittering eyes, knowing him, seeing him. Knowing exactly what words hurt the worst. 

Everything from his mouth cut. Earl was lazy, so excited by a breaking story he didn't bother to check the facts. He wanted fame, he didn't care about journalism. He was nothing more than a pretty face reading lines. 

Earl just stood, taking it. His skin felt too tight. It felt like a fever was burning him up. A wave of shame went through him. Shame that felt like wanting. This is what he hated, hated worse than seeing Floyd self-destruct: knowing that Floyd abusing him made him hard. When he couldn't escape the knowledge that he wanted this. He felt pinned down, exposed. He was sick. He was the kind of man who went to his knees for-- no, wanted _desperately_ to fall to his knees for someone who made him feel ashamed. 

Earl felt like he was outside his own body, watching himself kneel down in front of Floyd's chair. His hands were shaking as he slid Floyd's belt open, unhooked the top of his slacks and slid the zipper down, tooth by tooth, click click click. Slid his fingertips under the elastic on his boxers, pulled them down just enough, enough to lick Floyd's hard cock from root to tip. To push his face into his crotch, kissing and licking and breathing in the heat and the smell of him. 

Floyd was quiet. He took a sip from his glass, the ice ringing on the tumbler. Floyd not even acknowledging him, what he was doing, went straight to Earl's crotch, made him want Floyd even more. Earl sucked the tip of his cock into his mouth, tasted the salt of precome, felt the heat and the hard that were the only indications Floyd wanted any of it. Wanted him. Earl felt like he was starving, needing anything, any bit of Floyd he could have. He moved his mouth down, taking as much of Floyd's cock as he could, breathing in short huffs through his nose. 

He pressed his tongue hard, dragging along the vein on the underside of Floyd's dick and began moving, pushing Floyd into his mouth over and over. His mouth watered, dripped, slicked his chin. He knotted his fingers into the loose fabric at the top of Floyd's pants, afraid to go further, to grip Floyd's hips like he wanted to. He squeezed his eyes closed, blocked out everything but being _here_ , between Floyd's legs, kneeling at his feet, sucking and licking desperately. Tasting him. Smelling him. Feeling like he was nothing. Feeling like this was his only purpose. Feeling like sucking Floyd, desperately trying to please him, was the only thing he wanted. It tore at his chest, tore out of him in a muffled whimper around Floyd's cock. A flood of salt precome spread over his tongue. He reached between his own legs, pressed the heel of his hand down, rubbed at his own dick through his pants. He was aching, throbbing, wanting. 

A sharp groan broke into his darkness and Floyd was coming in his mouth, filling him, spilling over his lips. Earl felt near tears, a flush of relief pushing through him, his heart pounding. 

"Clean yourself up, Camembert, you're a mess." Floyd flicked a handkerchief from his breast pocket at Earl's face. The words felt like a slap. He loved it. _Fuck_. Earl swabbed at his face as Floyd zipped himself up. 

"Stand up." Earl froze. "Stand _up_." Floyd's voice was sharp. Earl stood. Floyd unfolded himself from his chair. He pressed against Earl's back and wrapped a forearm tight across his chest, his hand still holding his drink. The other hand unfastened Earl's fly, quick, businesslike. Floyd wrapped his hot palm and long fingers around Earl's aching dick and started jerking him off. Floyd's breath was loud in his ear but still-- it made Earl's skin prickle with sweat-- calm and collected. The pace was pushing into too fast, with barely enough moisture to cut the friction, Floyd's grip tight enough to almost burn against him. Everything felt white-hot, too bright, too much. Earl came, arched into Floyd's body, gasping and screaming his name. 

Earl felt himself being turned, roughly, and pulled into a bruising kiss. When it ended, Floyd held Earl's face in his hands, their foreheads together, his eyes pressed closed, and hissed "Nobody else. Nobody else." His voice broke. "This is only for you. I'll only be this for you." Earl gripped him in a tight embrace, pushed his face into his neck and tried to steady his breathing, nearly hiccuping with tears. 

It wasn't until the next day that Earl realized Floyd had barely touched his drink.


End file.
